


Public Speaking Advice

by Mithen



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Identity Porn, M/M, Reunions, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-07
Updated: 2009-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-15 03:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly back on Earth, Superman is at a welcome-back party when he meets someone he didn't expect to see again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Public Speaking Advice

**Author's Note:**

> An alternate take on Bruce Wayne's reunion with Clark, written while he was still dead. At this point in canon, the people of Gotham all think Bruce Wayne is alive but has been in seclusion after Hush stole his identity for a crime spree.

The sounds of the party around him fade to a dim buzz; the "Welcome back, Superman" banners waver and grow dim at the edges of his vision. The man in front of him--but it's impossible, Clark thinks wildly, impossible--is smiling, his sardonic face lit in a way Clark had seen only once before. "Superman," he says, panting, almost out of breath-- _impossible_ \--"I just got back...in town. I had to see you. Welcome back."

He's dreaming. He'll wake up on New Krypton alone. Batman is dead. Superman had held his burned body in his arms.

And so of course this man in front of him is not Bruce Wayne.

Clark takes a deep breath, tamping down the cruel, traitorous leap of his heart. "Well," he says jovially, all superhero, "Thank you so much, Mister...?"

The familiar blue eyes spark with knowing laughter. "Wayne. Bruce Wayne. Don't you remember, Superman? That charity event in Gotham just before you had to leave?"

He remembers, oh, he does. But anyone else would remember it too--Hush, Clayface... "I'm sorry, I do so many fundraisers." An apologetic shrug and he's back on comfortable territory, all business, he'll have to alert Dick of another impostor...

But the man in front of him doesn't give up, he leans in, intent, demanding. "You don't remember? You had to give a speech and you confessed that you were nervous to me. Asked me for advice on public speaking."

He remembers, of course. But anyone else could have overheard that conversation. It was the last time he saw Bruce before--before-- No one has a right to those memories; he locks them away and smiles politely. "Yes, of course, of course."

The cruel mockery in front of him frowns, and there's a hint of desperation in his eyes, of sadness. "I'm sure you remember the advice I gave you. Don't you? I told you..." His voice falters briefly, then he continues, "I told you not to be nervous. That sometimes you just have to relax and trust that everything will be fine. I told you that you were perfect." His voice has dropped very slightly; his eyes are beseeching. "I told you to trust me."

And the room is swimming around Clark, shock shattering the crowd and banners and lights into prisms, nothing in focus but the two of them. Because he remembers, he will always remember, what Bruce said that night. Not at the party, but after, whispered into the moonlit space between them:

 _Clark. Don't be nervous._ Hands unfastening his cape, scarlet cloth rustling down onto black silk. _Sometimes you just have to relax and trust that everything will be fine._ A kiss that wrung a moan from him, a caress that snatched words away entirely. _You're perfect_. Bruce's ragged breaths. His hands. His body, scarred and flawless in moonlight as Clark touched him. _Trust me._ Joy.

He remembers joy.

Superman blinks and realizes Bruce is still standing in front of him, his smile starting to look strained. Everyone is looking at them. Clark's eyes are burning, his arms ache to wrap around Bruce's body, to make sure he's real, to feel the living flesh once more. "Of course I remember," he manages. There is a wavering in his voice that he cannot banish. "I would never forget." He puts out his hand, reaching for the one touch they're allowed here in this place in front of a hundred eyes. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

Bruce stares at Superman's hand, then slowly puts out his own, the fingers closing around Clark's with infinite delicacy, as if he fears Clark will vanish at his touch. "It's a pleasure to see you too." He grips Clark's hand harder, fingers tightening until all his strength is in the clasp, as if their joined hands are a lifeline he dares not relinquish. He covers the handshake with his other hand, and when he looks back at Clark he isn't smiling anymore.

Clark fears for a second that he might sob aloud at what he sees in those eyes, but instead he blinks hard and manages a smile. Smiling seems somehow a weak and pallid expression of what's in his heart right now, but he knows Bruce will understand.

At the moment when the handshake becomes unendurable without turning into an embrace, they both step back. The chatter of the crowd seems to come flooding back in, and Bruce Wayne snags a glass of champagne from a passing tray. "I'm exhausted from traveling, actually. It was a...long journey. I'll be going home soon."

"Oh," says the organizer of the event solicitously, "Surely you'll be staying to hear Superman's speech?"

Bruce's eyes turn back to Superman. He lifts his champagne flute and puts his lips to the rim, a lingering touch. "It depends," he notes, arching a brow. "I'm really _quite_ anxious to get home. I'm hoping to meet someone there for a more...private homecoming." The organizer makes a teasing _tsk_ ing noise, and he beams at her, the handsome facile smile. "But perhaps for a big brave hero like Superman... What's the topic?"

Clark has to swallow a couple of times. "It's about...about the joy of coming home again."

Bruce smiles, and it's not the playboy smile, not at all. "Then I wouldn't miss it for the world." His eyes touch Clark's face, his hair; he drags them away with an apparent effort and clears his throat. "You still look a little nervous, Superman. You know, the only other advice I know on speech anxiety is to imagine your audience naked." He winks over the rim of his champagne flute. "Of course, with x-ray vision you might not need to _imagine_..."

Clark grins and--he can't help it--winks back, a big theatrical wink. "Be careful, Mr. Wayne," he says, "Some people might be tempted to follow your advice."

Bruce tilts his head and throws him a coy look from beneath thick lashes. "Oh, but some things are better left to the imagination."

"That's true," Superman agrees. He steps forward to greet someone else, brushing by Bruce. "...and some things aren't," Clark murmurs in his ear as he passes.


End file.
